Great Elm, I am not yours
and you are not mine.
It is, of course, my nature
to play the games of ownership; jealousy.
So I imagine you chuckling at my size;
whispering to the Willow
that I have a Napoleon complex.

As I climb you, elm tree,
I realize that you, unlike me,
don’t see from the top-down.
Every part of you breathes;
from the limbs which reach out
to the roots which plumb
great depths underground.